


Rainy season

by EldOchFlamma



Category: Naruto
Genre: Christmas gift to wonderful Canchuon, Fix-It of Sorts, Hashirama tries his best at least, M/M, Uchiha brothers being cute, a very soft one, everyone is still small enough and alive enough for it to make a difference, hopefully
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:14:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28488129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EldOchFlamma/pseuds/EldOchFlamma
Summary: After a mission gone wrong, all that Madara wants is to get his injured little brother home safely. Being intercepted by his enemy is therefore the worst thing that could possibly happen... right?
Relationships: Senju Hashirama/Uchiha Madara
Comments: 23
Kudos: 119





	Rainy season

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Canchuon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canchuon/gifts).



> Merry Christmas to the sweetest, most supportive person ever, Canchuon! 
> 
> Thank you for making 2020 so much brighter for me with your encouragement and creativity - so many of my ideas would have never found their way onto paper otherwise! I wish you the best holidays and I hope we get to have just as many conversations in 2021!

Madara took another step, his sandals slipping on the slick gravel under the soles. Izuna let out a small whimper as he was jostled, his hair tickling Madara’s cheek as his head was tossed about on his shoulder, and Madara shushed him, biting his bottom lip to distract himself from how his whole body ached from the effort. They’d been making their way through the drizzling rain like this for longer than Madara wanted to contemplate and had barely covered any distance. Both Izuna and Madara had been sent on a mission for the clan, and it had been progressing smoothly until the Yamanaka had entered the scene unexpectedly. Everything had gone to hell then, and Madara had barely gotten his brother out of the resulting chaos.

Still, he’d not been fast enough to prevent Izuna from getting hurt – he wasn’t sure what had happened exactly, but Izuna had inhaled something weird and subsequently collapsed. He was delirious, and even though Madara could feel a gash on his thigh and his dislocated shoulder screaming at him, he wouldn’t stop until he’d brought them both home safely. But his chakra was depleted, making the process arduous and too slow – and Izuna’s breathing was getting more and more shallow. Gritting his teeth Madara forced himself to focus on the task ahead. There was no use in considering what-ifs, he had no choice but to make it home as quickly as possible so Izuna could be seen to by their healer.

Blinking repeatedly to free his field of vision from both water and the hair sticking wetly to his face, Madara was glad to be able to blame the burning in his eyes to the rain. He was furious – at his father, for allowing Izuna to tag along on this mission, the Yamanaka for ruining a perfectly smooth operation, and at himself, for once again being too weak to protect his brother when it really mattered. The horrid weather was just the cherry on top of an absolutely terrible day, and he wanted to scream and kick the cursed slippery rocks under his feet. But risking a fall was the last thing they needed right now.

Madara startled when he heard a sound, head flying up as he tried to scan his surroundings for any movement, coming up with nothing. Maybe it had been a bird, or a hare in the shrubbery. Frowning he tried casting out his senses, but his chakra was so weak his sensing abilities fizzled out at about 5 paces in radius. Useless. He was _so useless_. At least the river was familiar enough. Madara had been following it for two miles now, both to mask their tracks and also because it would definitely lead them home. He just needed to go a little further and then turn north –

“Nii-san...?” Izuna mumbled, and Madara stopped immediately to look at him.

His small mouth was starting to turn blue and his eyes were half-lidded and hazy, and it was a torment for Madara to see him like this.

“I’m here, Izuna, I’m right here. Just hold on, just a couple more steps, I promise,” he crooned, tucking a damp strand of hair behind his brother’s ear.

“’m cold, nii-san,” Izuna whispered, teeth chattering, and Madara tried pulling him closer to his side.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Madara replied, trying to force his chakra into responding, but like wet brimstone it merely sparked a couple times before faltering. “Just hold on a little longer. I promise I’ll bring you home!”

Izuna murmured tonelessly and his head flopped against Madara’s shoulder again, limp. Biting his bottom lip so hard he broke the skin, Madara took a shuddering breath and walked on, as fast as he dared to, ignoring his blurring vision and the bitter cold creeping up his own limbs. Just a little further. Just a couple more steps and then –

“Madara!” someone cried, and it took him a couple seconds to register both the sound and that the call was directed at him.

Lifting his head, Madara spotted a figure across the river, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a long coat to protect against the rain. He squinted, and the moment the person started running across the water and towards him, the numbness inside him changed to panic, to pain, to humiliation so fast it left him breathless. Madara barely managed to slip his cold-stiffened fingers into his pouch and fish out a kunai, lifting his arm protectively in front of Izuna, the sharp tip of his weapon pointed at Hashirama who had stepped onto their side of the shore a couple paces ahead of them.

Fate was truly cruel, Madara though, to guide Hashirama here now so he would witness Madara’s shameful incompetence first-hand. Wasn’t it enough for them to be enemies, for Hashirama to actually having gotten the better of him in their last fight? Madara didn’t want Hashirama to see him struggling like this, didn’t want to have to waste time fighting him when he needed to get Izuna _home_ –

“It really is you – Madara, I – wait, is he hurt?” Hashirama stumbled over his words, his voice in the awkward stage where it would break every now and then, and jump to a higher octave, and Madara _really did not need this right now._

“Stay back, Senju!” he snapped, lifting the kunai higher, and Hashirama actually froze where he stood, still close enough so Madara could see the way his eyes widened at the threat.

Then he lifted his hands, as if he was trying to look harmless – what a joke! – and returned his focus to Madara. It did nothing to soothe Madara’s worries though, because he knew that silly expression on Hashirama, and it didn’t bode well at all.

“I’m not trying to start anything, I swear,” he had the gall to say, and Madara snorted.

“We are enemies. If you aren’t starting anything, then it’s your loss,” he snapped back, hoping his posturing would distract Hashirama from how absolutely incapable he was to engage him in a fight right now.

“You need rest,” Hashirama went on, ignoring him, which got Madara’s hackles raised immediately. “And you need a healer.”

“What I need is to get home,” Madara told him through grit teeth – Izuna’s weight was becoming harder to bear while just standing in place. “So, will you get out of our way or will I have to make you?”

As they were staring each other down the rain had gotten stronger, and Madara’s arm around his brother, now that he wasn’t holding onto him with both hands, was slipping. Hashirama opened his mouth, but just as he was about to speak the strike of a lightning bolt brightened the sky, followed by ear-splitting thunder a moment later. They both jumped, and Izuna let out a soft sound of pain, which immediately distracted Madara from his supposed enemy.

“Izuna! It’s okay, I –“

“He needs to lie down, he’s barely breathing,” Hashirama suddenly said right next to him, and Madara immediately raised the kunai again, pressing it against his coat, just over the heart, in a last-ditch effort to keep up the façade of having control.

“L-leave us alone –“

“Madara please, let me help!” Hashirama urged, his eyes bright and beseeching. “If you stay out in this weather, you’ll both die!”

Madara glared at him, ignoring how he could feel the cold rain dripping into his collar and sliding down his back, and dug the kunai harder into Hashirama’s chest.

“Shouldn’t that be in your best interest?” he growled, hoisting Izuna up against his side and suppressing a wince at the strain it brought to his injured shoulder. “Now get out of my way –“

“Please let me help him,” Hashirama changed his course of action, and damn him if he wasn’t slipping right through Madara’s defences with that, just as his big, pleading eyes were. “You can fight me later on, if you want, but he needs to rest. Please, let me help.”

“Why should I trust you?” Madara demanded quietly, his honour fighting against the temptation Hashirama had laid out for him. “I’m your enemy. Izuna is your enemy. We – ”

“I’ll help regardless,” Hashirama answered him with honest conviction, the stubborn downturn of his mouth familiar enough to Madara to know he meant it. “Please.”

Madara hesitated a bit longer, but feeling Izuna’s limp body starting to slip again, he realised there really was no choice. Surely, taking advantage of an enemy’s desire to help was a good move, all things considered? Slowly dropping his hand, which was still clinging to the kunai, Madara refused to look at Hashirama, even more so when he heard the other release a sigh of relief. Only when Hashirama took a sudden step back did he lift his eyes to follow his movements, seeing him scan the edge of the forest, then nodding resolutely.

It was more instinct than anything for Madara to jerk back when Hashirama started forming hand-signs, but of course Hashirama didn’t mean to attack him. Under Madara’s watchful eyes, a wonky make-shift little hut grew out of the ground under one of the large willows. But really, its shape mattered little, the thing had walls and a roof, and that was more than enough. Hashirama turned his attention to Madara again and glanced at Izuna uncertainly.

“Can I help you get him there?” he asked and waited for Madara to nod his head in defeat before ducking under Izuna’s free arm and hoisting him up.

Together they managed to bring Izuna into the wooden shelter, and Madara was relieved to find that Hashirama had grown them some floorboards to sit on as well, so they wouldn’t have to kneel in the mud. It took all of Madara’s remaining strength to set Izuna down, wincing at the way his leg ached as he carefully slipped Izuna’s _katana_ out from under him, placing it at his side. He gently stroked his brother’s wet hair out of his small, too-pale face and Izuna’s eyelids fluttered. He opened his eyes slowly, finding Madara’s familiar form and immediately shifting his hand towards him on the floor. Madara forced himself to smile reassuringly, grasping the cold little hand in his and rubbing it, trying to get it warm again.

“Nii-san… ‘r we home?” he mumbled in confusion and Madara shook his head.

“Not yet. It’s raining too hard to go on,” Madara explained, looking over when Hashirama kneeled by Izuna’s other side, looking worried.

Hashirama had shrugged off his coat and hat, revealing a nondescript hakama and a pale green kimono to match, and absently tucked his hair behind his ear. It had started growing long, though it wasn’t even close to Madara’s wild mop, just long enough to dangle in front of his eyes constantly even though he wore a headband with the Senju clan crest on it to keep it back. Madara tried hard not to think about those details too much. Izuna’s eyes had followed Madara’s, and he stared at Hashirama for a moment in confused silence, then flinched back from him – or rather he tried, because he couldn’t manage much more than a little shift.

“N-nii-san –“

“Shush, stay still –“

“B-but, he – he’s a _Senju_ –“

“It’s okay, Izuna, everything’s okay,” Madara soothed his brother, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Trust me, alright? It’s going to be fine.”

“But –“

“Shush now, don’t talk. Save your strength. I’m here, you’re safe,” he urged, and Izuna’s eyes hesitantly turned towards him again, though still clearly scared.

Izuna stuck out his bottom lip just a bit, in a sad imitation of a pout, but hummed softly, his eyes slipping closed again from exhaustion. Madara stroked nervous fingers through his soft hair, leaving it even more tousled, but he couldn’t help himself. He needed to make sure his little brother was alive and breathing.

“Will you tell me what happened?” Hashirama asked, voice low so as to not agitate the little boy lying in between them any more than necessary.

“We were engaging the Yamanaka and a smoke bomb went off next to him,” Madara divulged curtly, and watched as Hashirama nodded and reached for Izuna’s wrist, checking his pulse. “There must have been something weird in it.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he told Madara, his expression intent, and Madara hated how just seeing his face and knowing he wasn’t alone in trying to help his little brother made him feel relieved.

He watched with numb curiosity as Hashirama’s hands started to glow green, hovering just above Izuna’s narrow ribcage. Eager to gain some information on his brother’s condition, Madara watched the shifting expressions on Hashirama’s face, but couldn’t learn anything, really.

“What are you doing?” Madara demanded impatiently, trying not to let his worry overwhelm him. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Poison,” Hashirama replied, and Madara froze in panic. “It’s infested his lungs and part of the digestive tract.”

“Can – can you –“ Madara started and broke off, hating how his voice faltered.

But Hashirama didn’t seem to notice, a frown of concentration on his face as he infused more chakra.

“I’m not sure if I can get rid of it completely, but I can reverse most of the damage,” he told Madara slowly, who slumped back in relief and kept holding onto Izuna’s hand.

They sat in silence while Hashirama worked, the only sound in the makeshift cabin being the heavy rain splattering against the roof. Madara stroked his brother’s hand tirelessly, too nervous to register the way his wet clothes started sticking to his body like an icy second skin, which would doubtlessly end up making him sick later. All that mattered right now was Izuna’s life, and Hashirama succeeding in saving it. His enemy turned unexpected aide was bent over Izuna’s shivering body, working healing chakra into the small body with a steady precision Madara secretly envied.

Hashirama used to be the one to show off with bursts of barely controlled chakra, or falter halfway through one of his new “inventions”, causing mostly hilarious backlash, for which Madara would tease him relentlessly. But during the last two years a lot seemed to have changed, not just for Madara. They’d barely seen each other – Madara may have caught a glimpse of him a total of five times across the battlefield, during three of which they had actually crossed blades. The first time they’d fought against one another it had felt almost surreal. Gone were the days of their childish abandon, of playing around and chasing each other by the river.

Madara was well aware that Hashirama was strong, that he’d never been shown the full extent of what he was capable of, just as Madara had held back on sharing the secrets of his eyes. That first fight had been less of a fight and more a test, to figure out the others’ tactics and movements. And just like before they’d slotted together seamlessly, knowing how to read each other from their play fights in the past, and Madara could almost convince himself that this was another one of those days in the forest. The Senju had pulled back that day, leaving Madara’s clan victorious, but he’d not celebrated upon returning home. Instead he’d eaten dinner mechanically and then gone to bed, feigning tiredness so he could hide his shameful tears in the privacy of his room.

He hadn’t seen Hashirama again for months afterwards, long enough to almost convince himself that it had been a bad dream, that while they were enemies, they weren’t the kind of enemies who would try and slit each other’s throats in battle. Then came spring, and with it a new surge in conflicts. The Uchiha were hired by a daimyo, leaving his competition with little choice but to hire the Senju if they wanted to stand a chance, and there they were, once again, trading blows in the age-old circle of violence that was ever between their clans.

Madara missed the next battle against the Senju, since he was bed-ridden with a fever, almost losing an arm due to a poisoned lance from an Aburame shinobi that had cut into his skin while Madara was covering a fellow clan member. Once he was well enough to inquire, he learned that it had taken three men to keep Hashirama relatively contained – one of which had been his cousin Hikaku, considered a genius of his generation, who’d limped away with a broken leg for his efforts. It explained the deepening lines around his father’s mouth, and Madara knew then that he’d have to be the one to face Hashirama in the future. It wasn’t just because he was familiar with his enemy’s style, but because he was the only one able to keep up with him.

Madara had just been allowed to leave his bed when there was a new contract, and a new battle against the Senju. He had swallowed his bitter medicinal concoction right before strapping his _katana_ around his waist, and he had entered the battlefield still feeling faint and cold from being sick for almost three weeks. Each of Hashirama’s attacks had shaken his whole body, until he’d either grown numb to the sensation, or – as his angry, wounded ego suspected – because Hashirama had weakened his blows. He’d looked worried when Madara lost his footing and fell, hesitating just long enough to give him time to regain his bearings.

It had frustrated Madara to no end to know that Hashirama wasn’t giving it his all, though the more sensible part of him was grateful – grateful his former friend was still soft enough towards him to temper himself, grateful he would get to watch over his little brothers another day, grateful he got to walk away from that fight, when any other enemy would have happily used the chance to kill him and spare himself the trouble of a future battle against him. But Hashirama must have thought he wouldn’t be needing any luck to defeat him, and Madara let himself be bitter about it. Bitterness led to anger, and that made the pain in his heart easier to bear. 

Izuna’s soft groan brought Madara out of his musing, and he immediately refocused all his attention on his little brother, whose face was pinched into a pained frown, seemingly drifting in and out of consciousness. Realising Hashirama had shifted his glowing hand a little further down, Madara shushed Izuna with gentle words while chiding himself for his carelessness, proceeding to watch the Senju like a hawk.

“I’m almost done,” Hashirama said, without being prompted, probably feeling Madara’s glare. “He’s got a couple bruises, but those should heal just fine. I did notice though that his liver not functioning properly – has he ever been kicked in that area?”

Madara could only shrug with a muted sense of horror. Nobody had ever mentioned anything about Izuna having an injured liver, and it might have remained undetected, causing him problems in the future. Maybe it was a lucky coincidence after all for them to have met like this. Madara would gladly take on any humiliation if it meant his brother would be safe.

“Why… why are you… helping?” Izuna eventually mumbled, clearly confused, his half-closed bleary eyes watching Hashirama.

Hashirama paused his efforts for a bit and offered Izuna a smile just as honest and kind as Madara remembered.

“Because I don’t want any more children to die needlessly,” he answered, making Madara’s heart skip a beat at the familiar words. “And because you are Madara’s little brother.”

Izuna blinked at him a couple times, clearly mistrusting the strange boy who was their enemy but went out of his way to do them good. Since he was still exhausted, his eyes slid closed again eventually, and Hashirama returned to his task. It was a relief, because had he looked up, he would have seen Madara’s hands clenched into fists on his knees, and his conflicted feelings painted all over his face. But Hashirama worked on, and the silence in the hut was less strained now than it had been before. Then finally the green glow around his palms faded, and Hashirama grinned victoriously.

“Alright, all done!” he exclaimed after what felt like an eternity to Madara and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

He was flushed from exertion, Madara could tell, even though it was rather dark inside their shelter, and he let out a relieved breath he hadn’t even realised he was holding. And Izuna was waking up again, blinking his tired eyes up at him, and Madara couldn’t remember ever having felt so relieved. He leaned closer with a smile, looking his brother over once more.

“How are you feeling, Izuna?”

“Better,” his little brother confirmed, and cast a worried glance at Hashirama, squirming away from him again now that he could. “But nii-san –“

“It’s alright, I promise,” Madara reminded him. “He’s… helping us.”

Izuna pursed his lips, still not entirely convinced, and looked over at Hashirama again, who had produced a water flask from somewhere in his discarded mantle and was filling three uneven wooden mugs with its content – mugs that looked a lot like he’d just grown them.

“You should drink something, both of you,” he said as a way of explaining, then carried the mugs over to the two Uchiha who were watching his every move. “You might not have realised, but it’s evening already. I bet you haven’t had any food or water all day. Please have some.”

Madara helped his brother sit up, even though Izuna merely ended up scooting further away from Hashirama and crossing his arms.

“I’m not drinking anything offered by a Senju,” he said loftily, with what Madara could identify as an oncoming mood on him.

“I doubt a Senju would be dumb enough to expend his chakra to heal you and then try poison you afterwards,” Madara pointed out, and Izuna turned the full force of his pout on him.

“How would I know? He looks kind of dumb, with the hair and all...”

Madara couldn’t help snorting aloud, and Hashirama immediately wilted, much like he’d done in the past when Madara had teased him about his bowl cut.

“Your brother is just as cruel as you, Madara,” Hashirama whined, and looked up at them sadly through his grown-out bangs. “I promise, I only want to help! I am not trying to poison anyone – that’s my own water ration!”

Izuna opened his mouth again, ready to use his barely regained strength to continue bickering with Hashirama, but Madara put his hand on his shoulder to reign him back in. That was when he noticed how wet and cold Izuna still was, and that he was trembling, which immediately made his worry return.

“You need to get out of your coat, you’re soaked,” he urged gently. “Come on, I’ll help you –“

As he made to move onto his knees to do just that, Madara’s wounded leg gave out and he fell back onto his bottom with a hiss.

“Nii-san!” Izuna cried out, scrambling to his side unsteadily, and Madara was surprised to see Hashirama had followed suit, his depressed attitude evaporating as quickly as it had come.

“You should have told me you were hurt too,” he chided softly, but Madara brushed him off.

“I’m fine,” he insisted stubbornly. “Izuna is more important –“

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t say anything –“

“If – if you really mean what you said, then you’ll heal my brother too!” Izuna cut in with unexpected vehemence and foolhardy daring. “Then I _might_ believe you, Senju.”

He was glaring at Hashirama with big worried eyes in the way only a little brother could, still looking small and wet and pitiful, and Hashirama naturally melted on the spot, just as Madara himself couldn’t deny his baby brother anything.

“Of course I will,” he assured Izuna, then turned to Madara. “But Madara was right, you should get out of your wet clothes quickly. Go ahead and take my cape, it’ll keep you warm in the meantime.”

He inspected Madara’s leg, definitely noticing the dark spots on the front of Madara’s coat now, where blood had seeped through the cloth. That would be hell to clean out later on, Madara knew. Izuna, upon convincing himself of the fact that Hashirama was doing as he wanted him to, slowly reached over behind him to pull his raincoat close.

“You too, Madara. I can see you shivering,” Hashirama added softly, and got Madara’s hackles raised immediately.

It had nothing to do with the fact that Madara wouldn’t be able to get the coat off if he wanted to, his dislocated shoulder making that kind of movement impossible without any help.

“I’m _fine_ , Hashirama,” he grumbled, watching Izuna as he struggled to peel himself out of his wet clothes, clearly still exhausted. “Just… get it over with.”

He could see Hashirama looking at him from the corner of his eyes, but didn’t dare turn to him, afraid of what he might find in his expression. Hashirama let out a sigh and then the green glow of healing chakra lit up the shelter once more. It was impossible to describe what Hashirama’s chakra felt like – vast and intimate at the same time, warm and gentle, and yet brutal in how foreign it was. Madara pretended he didn’t full-body shiver as he felt the skin and muscle of his thigh be knit back together, and once he was certain Izuna was wrapped up safely in Hashirama’s coat, he focused his attention on his enemy turned healer.

Sitting this close to Hashirama Madara could see how long his lashes were and could hear every stilted breath he took as he worked, brows drawn together into a concentrated frown. Madara wished he had enough chakra to activate the Sharingan, both to intimidate him and protect his wounded pride, and to burn the sight into his memory, so he had at least one moment of kindness between them to keep forever. Hashirama was finished much quicker than he had anticipated though, and when he looked up Madara realised how close they were – and flinched back awkwardly.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Hashirama asked, eyes boring into Madara’s, as if he expected him to lie and wanted to read the answer in them instead.

“I –“

“Nii-san hurt his shoulder,” Izuna, the little traitor, gave him away from where he had huddled into a ball under Hashirama’s rain coat.

Hashirama merely nodded and sat up a little straighter, reaching for Madara’s left arm and lifting it a little. The movement caused a stinging pain to flare up instantly and Madara bit his bottom lip to refrain from making a noise, though he did shoot his brother a glare which was steadfastly ignored. Izuna ganging up with Hashirama against him was not what he had expected.

“Broken?” Hashirama asked as he assessed Madara’s shoulder, then shook his head. “Dislocated.”

Madara nodded once in confirmation and leaned his head away when Hashirama shuffled over to his side and grabbed him by the shoulder, hooking his own arm under Madara’s.

“This is going to hurt,” he warned, and before Madara could protest he roughly pulled on Madara’s arm, dragging it right back into its socket.

Partially due to surprise Madara let out an undignified grunt of pain, because ‘hurt’ had been an understatement. Luckily the next thing he knew was Hashirama’s soothing chakra washing over him, calming his aching shoulder and tense muscles. He subconsciously leaned into the sensation, and Hashirama’s chakra seemed to flare stronger at that, slowly creeping down his arm and torso, and Madara was only brought out of his comfortable daze when Hashirama gasped next to him.

“You have two broken ribs!” he cried accusingly, as if Madara had kept it from him on purpose when he hadn’t even known himself – he was hurting all over, more or less, how should be able to tell?

“What are you waiting for? Fix it!” Izuna insisted on Madara’s other side, having scooted closer so he could observe what Hashirama was doing.

Madara shushed him and took his small, still-cold hand to soothe him, and Izuna rewarded that with the full force of his brotherly pout, making Madara wince. He would _never_ hear the end of it, that was apparent from how readily Izuna accepted – or rather demanded – Hashirama’s help now.

“So bossy,” their Senju companion mumbled, but got to work promptly, and Madara had no choice but to sit back and endure their fussing.

It took a while for Hashirama to knit together his bones, and Madara wondered if that was because they were more difficult to heal, or because the injury was older. After thinking on it, he suspected he’d acquired it about two weeks ago in a tussle with some Sarutobi shinobi, since he’d been kicked in the side then. Madara had assumed that the lingering pain he felt was due to the bruising. Once Hashirama was done with that job, he refused to move away though, instead scanning Madara’s body for any other injuries he might be carrying around. And since was able to find some, he happily ignored Madara’s attempts to fend him off, realising that as long as he had Izuna on his side he had free reign to do as he pleased.

And healing Madara seemed to be just that.

Hashirama found the inflamed tendons on Madara’s right hand which he had developed due to excessive shuriken practice, and the broken big toe on his left foot from Hikaku slamming his katana heel against it during training, and he gave Madara a look that was so pitiful it rivalled Izuna’s best pout. So, what was Madara to do but sigh and accept the care bestowed upon him? Madara’s stomach felt a little queasy though, not just because of slowly emerging hunger, but because he didn’t know what to make of this situation. He didn’t want to be indebted to Hashirama any more than he already was, because he’d saved Izuna’s life. He didn’t know if Hashirama would gain a better knowledge about his body from healing him and would use it against him in a later fight.

And he certainly didn’t want to feel bad for thinking that, even though it was a legitimate concern to have. _Hashirama isn’t like that_ , a treacherous voice sounding suspiciously like his heart kept reminding him. Hashirama had gone out of his way to help him, to help them both, he’d shared a dream with Madara once, what felt like ages ago. He’d been his friend –

“Are you done groping me now??” Madara snapped, trying to get rid of his conflicting thoughts and his nervousness, and Hashirama jumped and flushed suspiciously.

“It’s not my fault you don’t take care of your injuries!” he stammered, reluctantly pulling back his hands.

“I barely even noticed them,” Madara shot back arrogantly, because insignificant things like broken toes would not hinder a shinobi like him. “What kind of weakling do you take me for?”

Hashirama raised his hands again defensively, ducking his head a little like he’d done the couple times when he’d pissed Madara off, and Madara had shouted at him. Laughing nervously, he decided to jump on the only available evasion strategy.

“How about you, Izuna-chan? Is there anywhere you still hurt?” he asked, and Madara felt the same familiar ache in his heart again, because Hashirama was still such an open book to him, and he was _so good_.

“Don’t say my name so familiarly!” Izuna grumbled while puffing up, a fact that was mostly hidden by the over-large coat bundled around him.

He obviously felt emboldened by his brother being healed and able to defend him now should it become necessary – or maybe he had just gotten comfortable in Hashirama’s reassuring presence. Izuna looked like he was pondering the question though, torn between not wanting to admit weakness to a Senju, and happily exploiting Hashirama’s freely offered healing skills.

“My tooth hurts,” he eventually admitted, staring at Hashirama like it was somehow his fault to begin with.

Said Senju boy readily crawled closer to him to get a look, and when Izuna hesitantly opened his mouth and pointed to the offender, Hashirama let out a chuckle. That naturally incensed Madara’s little brother, whose eyes narrowed into slits, but Hashirama was quick to do damage control.

“I’m sorry, I really can’t do much about that,” he told Izuna with a smile. “You are losing your milk teeth, and it naturally aches a little before they fall out. How old are you?”

“Oh,” Madara’s little brother mumbled, clearly embarrassed he hadn’t known about that. “I’m eight.”

“Just in time, then,” Hashirama nodded. “I can reduce the inflammation a bit, but it won’t last for long, I’m sorry.”

He reached out, very slowly, so Izuna could pull back at any moment if he wanted to, before placing his glowing hand on his chin. Hashirama’s intervention took little more than five seconds, seconds during with Izuna watched him like a goshawk, but Madara’s little brother did seem more content afterwards, probably glad to have been given this information by someone who was educated on healing beyond emergency bandaging battle wounds. Madara too felt himself relax a little more, the stress of the day slowly receding and morphing into something less urgent and more manageable.

“Right, so if nobody wants to drink any water, I’ll have it,” Hashirama then told them, and grabbed one of the mugs he’d grown, drinking its contents with the gusto of someone who’d walked a mile through a desert.

Clearly healing took much more out of him than he let on, which only increased the guilty heartache Madara felt, and how grateful he was to Hashirama for helping them anyway. He also noticed Izuna watching their supposed enemy, still suspicious but also very much intrigued by him. His little brother had, as far as Madara could tell, never interacted with any child outside of their own clan, since the Uchiha carefully kept to themselves to reduce the risk of inviting _kekkei genkai_ thieves into their midst. This naturally had the downside that unless you were involved in the negotiations with vassal clans, the only time you would meet other shinobi would be on the battlefield.

Madara wondered what Izuna was thinking, whether he was calculating the odds of them being able to overpower the enemy together, or whether his natural curiosity was piqued, and he wanted to know more about Hashirama and his life. Madara wanted to know too, but he couldn’t allow himself to go soft now, not when he didn’t know when he’d next meet Hashirama with a _katana_ in hand and the purpose to kill. No matter who they had been to one another, no matter the kindness he had shown them, Madara couldn’t afford to forget that he was the enemy now. He couldn’t allow himself to be weak.

Outside of their little shelter, the thunderstorm was still raging on, and when another bolt of lightning tore through the night sky with thunder on its heels, they all flinched. Izuna pulled the borrowed coat closer around himself, looking small and miserable, and Madara wished he was safe and warm in his futon at home instead. Hashirama, who had turned his head at the sudden light and noise, was now returning his focus to Madara.

“You’re still in that wet coat,” he pointed out, and Madara wished he hadn’t, because it made him very aware of how cold he actually was. “You really shouldn’t keep wearing it, Madara. You’ll get pneumonia and –“

“Yes, yes, stop nagging,” Madara groaned, opening the obi holding his _katana_ first and setting it down next to Izuna’s and then slipping out of the clammy garment, now that his fixed-up shoulder would allow it.

It took some effort, because his hands were clumsy from the cold, but it was indeed marginally less freezing in the open air. Madara then formed the hand seals for a secret clan jutsu to dry himself off with, the flare of chakra much weaker than it ought to be, but enough to briefly heat up his skin and make him feel more comfortable. Hashirama smiled at him, and handed him one of the mugs with water, which Madara accepted after spreading out his coat on the floor to dry. It did speak for ‘actions showing intention louder than words’, that Izuna didn’t protest against Madara drinking something possibly poisoned this time.

“I don’t think the rain will let up any time soon,” Hashirama then said, clearly wanting to keep making conversation. “It’ll be better to just stay here over night.”

Madara nodded, unable to disagree with the statement.

“We’ll stay until the rainfall stops, or lessens at least,” he decided, turning to Izuna. “You should sleep, you need the rest.”

“I’m fine, nii-san!” Izuna naturally protested, but Madara had seen him stifle a yawn into the coat and could see how small his eyes were.

“As a healer, I have to agree with Madara,” Hashirama interjected, and jumped when both Uchiha turned eerily similar glares on him, immediately raising his hands in defence once again. “I-I just mean, the poison was harsh on your system! Your body needs sleep to properly recover! And I can keep watch, I don’t mind!”

“Like I’ll close an eye next to a Senju!”

“I’ll keep watch too,” Madara interjected to soothe his little brother’s worries. “I want you to rest, Izuna. Who knows what we’ll have to do the next couple days?”

He didn’t add ‘or who we’ll have to fight’, but from the way Hashirama’s face fell Madara could tell that he had understood. Izuna looked between them grumpily, but eventually acquiesced and curled up under Hashirama’s coat, closing his eyes after another glare in Hashirama’s direction. He may not have been happy about it, but Izuna was a shinobi, and he knew the importance of grabbing a chance for rest while you could. They’d had to go days without sleeping before, and it was unpleasant to say the least, but conflict and war didn’t care whether or not they got their eight hours at night.

Madara sipped on his water, watching Izuna for something to do that wasn’t looking at Hashirama. Luckily his brother had always been one to fall asleep quickly, and it didn’t take long for his quiet, even breathing and his slackening posture to confirm that he was indeed resting, as he should be. Madara sighed, wanting nothing more than to curl up in a corner and forget this disaster of a day had ever happened, but he couldn’t allow himself any further mishaps in front of Hashirama.

Sighing quietly Madara leaned over to pull the coat tighter around Izuna to ensure he stayed warm and slept comfortably. His little brother mumbled a bit, burrowing into his warm nest like the kittens under the bushes behind their house, making Madara smile fondly. He tenderly brushed a lock of still-damp hair back from his face, grateful beyond words to know Izuna would recover from today’s injury. He was everything to Madara, the most important person in his life, and the thought of losing him was excruciating.

Madara froze when he heard Hashirama sit down by his side, a soft slide of cloth on wood, pulling his hand back slowly to not startle Izuna awake. Checking from the corner of his eyes, Madara saw the other boy intently scanning Izuna’s sleeping body for a while, then settling back again, satisfied by what he saw. That could only mean that Izuna was recovering well, and Madara could allow himself to worry just a bit less. Then suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder and tensed right back up.

“That’s a big scar,” Hashirama murmured, his thumb brushing over Madara’s left upper arm, just over the spot where he’d been cut by that lance a month ago.

The wound had festered and healed badly because of the poison, and while it had been stitched close promptly and only ached a little now, Madara still favoured his right hand a lot during fights. The scabs had not fully come off, and the skin around it was still pinkish and sensitive. And yet Madara found himself unable to pull away – whether it was Hashirama’s hand on his naked skin, which he couldn’t remember ever having felt before, or the gentle mindful caress, Madara’s heart was suddenly beating up to his throat.

“Do you want me to…?” Hashirama asked softly, leaning in closer so Madara could hear him whisper but Izuna wouldn’t be bothered.

Izuna.

Oh right.

Jumping a little Madara shushed him, the unexpected movement making Hashirama pull his hand back again. He then scooted over to the other corner of the hut, closer to the doorway. Yes, it was colder there, but he could watch their surroundings better, and protect his brother if needed. And if Hashirama was going to be unnecessarily noisy then at least they were a small distance away from Izuna’s sleeping form.

After a moment of hesitation, Hashirama decided to follow after him, but sat at a small distance to the side, looking surprisingly unsure of himself. He was once again holding the wooden mug he’d been drinking from before, turning it in his hands and stealing very obvious glances at him. Madara pretended like he wasn’t noticing it, suddenly feeling just as awkward – what was he supposed to do, make small talk with Hashirama for the rest of the night? Catch up with him like they were friends? Ignore him?

A gust of wind blew droplets of rain into the hut and Madara shivered, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, trying to stay warm. His stomach was in a knot from lack of food and stress, and he knew it would be a long night. Then suddenly a hand entered his field of vision, and after a moment Madara realised that it was holding a _senbei_ which had clearly seen better days. He looked over and realised Hashirama had scooted closer again, sitting next to him and offering him a smile.

“Want to share?” he asked, and Madara was about to turn him down when his stomach decided to growl loudly, reminding him of the fact that he hadn’t eaten anything since early morning.

He felt his cheeks heat up and nodded, shoulders drooping dejectedly. Surely there was no sinking lower than this? Hashirama broke the rice cracker in half and tried to hide the fact that he was giving Madara the bigger piece, but for once Madara swallowed down his pride and took the food with a grateful nod. They sat together silently as they ate, and while Hashirama just nibbled on his half, Madara had finished his share in about three bites. He gritted his teeth embarrassedly when Hashirama broke his _senbei_ in half to share it with him a second time.

“Thank you,” Madara mumbled, because he couldn’t say _nothing_ when Hashirama was so generous.

“Don’t mention it,” the Senju boy said, leaning back comfortably against the wooden wall of the hut. “I missed sitting down and eating with you.”

And just like that he casually crossed the unspoken line, mentioning their past friendship which Madara didn’t want to think about – couldn’t think about. The next bite of the rice cracker tasted like sawdust in his mouth, and Madara nearly gagged trying to swallow it. He remembered how they’d sat down together on the large boulders by the river, or on the cliff in the forest, right after sparring for hours, and shared food with one another. Hashirama had often brought his favourite mushroom and vegetable soup, and Madara his aunt Keiko’s famous onigiri, laughing when Hashirama bit right into a sour plum and pulled a face.

These memories hurt, because Madara had tried so hard to suppress them, to focus on the fact that Hashirama was his enemy. It had become a mantra, one he repeated to himself constantly to distract himself from the pain of losing his only friend. And he really didn’t want to drag all of that back up now – there was no sense in it since they’d go back to fighting each other the moment the rain stopped. Madara gnawed on his bottom lip, trying very hard to look anywhere but at Hashirama, but he was also hyperaware of his presence, his even breaths just half an arm’s length away.

“So… how have you been?” Hashirama asked eventually, when Madara refused to answer him. “That wound on your arm –“

“Stop it with the small talk,” Madara cut him off irritably. “We are enemies. Yes, we may be in a… temporary armistice… but that doesn’t make any difference.”

The silence following his words was so loud Madara almost wished he could take them back. Clearly Hashirama was too stubborn to let him freeze in peace for the rest of the night, insisting on pester Madara with clumsy attempts at conversation. He could see Hashirama’s head bowing forward from the corner of his eye and quickly stuffed the last piece of _senbei_ into his mouth, which would give him a reprieve from having to talk until he’d swallowed down the bite – or so he’d hoped.

“So… you haven’t… thought about me at all during the last years?”

The question was so unexpectedly blunt Madara turned his head in surprise, and was promptly confronted with Hashirama’s sad, dark eyes. Hashirama had often worn his emotions on his sleeve, but the times Madara had seen him truly upset he could count on one hand. And there was no question about it now, the pain in his eyes and the sad downturn of his mouth mirrored the ache Madara could feel in his own heart all too clearly. Unable to answer him since his throat was closing up again, Madara turned his face away once more and stared at his knees, wrapping his arms tighter around them.

“I have,” Hashirama admitted to him softly. “Every day. I… I miss you a lot, and I still want to be friends.”

His voice was trembling a little, and Madara steadfastly refused to look up again. He knew that if he did, his resolve might actually break. He huffed out a nervous laugh instead, fingers clutching at the still-damp cloth of his trousers.

“We are shinobi from warring clans,” he told his knees. “We are not the same we were back then… you don’t know me anymore, so…”

“I know you!” Hashirama disagreed immediately and vehemently. “It doesn’t matter if we don’t speak for a week, a month, or a year, you… I know you are still the same. You –“

He paused, and Madara heard his sleeve rustle.

“You were the only one who understood me, who I could talk to honestly,” Hashirama eventually continued, voice a little shaky. “You didn’t tell me to just get over Kawarama’s death, you listened to me… you were there for me.”

He sniffled audibly this time, though Madara could barely tell over his loudly beating heart.

“S-sure, you are an Uchiha and I am a Senju, but… but that doesn’t mean we can’t still – ”

Madara heard a hitch in his breath and made the mistake of looking over to him then, and found Hashirama biting his bottom lip, tears streaking down his cheeks. He looked so hurt, just like he’d done that day by the river, when their fathers had found them out and Madara realised they would need to part ways forever, and it broke Madara’s heart to see it again. He knew he couldn’t be Hashirama’s friend and fight against him at the same time, it would be impossible to bear. And yet…

“I’ve thought about you,” he blurted out, feeling just as surprised as Hashirama looked at that admission. “I-I mean –“

“You have?” Hashirama breathed, eyes wide and pleading like he’d been given a life line he’d not expected to ever grasp.

And yet the truth couldn’t be denied either. So Madara nodded, shivering when another gust of icy wind made the hairs on his arms rise. But Hashirama was scooting closer again and then he was plastering himself against Madara’s side, uncharacteristically seeking physical comfort and probably also wanting to make the cold easier to bear for him. He then went ahead and rested his head on Madara’s shoulder, getting comfortable in the crook of his neck, and Madara flushed with sudden and vehement shyness, fighting to ignore the feeling of that soft hair tickling his cheek.

“So… why were you out here anyway?” Madara asked the first thing that came to his mind – not the cleverest of questions, but he couldn’t get his brain to cooperate and think of anything more sensible either, too distracted by the feeling of Hashirama’s warm weight against him.

He couldn’t believe Hashirama was making him engage in small talk _willingly_. Said boy squirmed a little before answering, sounding like he was choosing his words carefully.

“I, uh, I was patrolling,” he explained. “It was my turn. It’s been my turn for a week now.”

“Oh?” Madara asked, feeling Hashirama deflate a little besides him.

“Mhm. I actually don’t mind it much, it’s nice being out in the forest, and that way at least I can’t get in trouble for ‘ _disrespecting authority_ ’.”

He was clearly quoting someone, and Madara had an inkling as to who it might be.

“Aside from that, I’ve been… about a lot,” Hashirama added. “You too, right?”

Madara hummed in agreement, shooting a look over to where Izuna was sleeping.

“Though I wish –“ he started, then broke off, because he wasn’t supposed to even have this conversation in the first place.

“What?” Hashirama immediately pressed, leaning back a little so he could glance up at Madara’s face.

“I wish I could just go out on my own,” Madara admitted, averting his eyes from his little brother’s sleeping form guiltily. “Then at least… Izuna…”

Hashirama understood without him having to explain anything further, just like he’d always done, nodding against his shoulder, his silky hair tickling Madara’s neck.

“Yeah, me too,” he agreed quietly. “But then again, I’d rather I was with my brother than sit at home worrying about what he’s up to out there.”

He had a point, and upon considering this Madara was certain that if Izuna was sent out on a mission on his own, he’d just end up stalking after him to make sure he was safe, and then have Izuna pout at him for a week because he was treating him like a baby. He sighed quietly, and Hashirama must have taken this as agreement, because he went on:

“I am… getting more involved now, in everything, and I hate it – I mean, I do what I have to do, but I just wish… I wish I wasn’t spending all my time figuring out how to kill people, and instead got to make their lives better.”

Madara closed his eyes, instead wishing that he couldn’t relate so well to what Hashirama was saying.

“And it’s hard, sometimes it’s unbearable, but I promised myself I would endure.”

“Why?” Madara asked softly, wanting to show him that he was listening.

“Because of you,” Hashirama answered without hesitation, and Madara felt his heart skip a beat. “Because whenever things are difficult, I remember that you and I share a dream, and if I give up then I won’t get to be there with you when it becomes reality.”

His words were full of certainty Madara didn’t feel at all, and it was hard to understand how he could derive strength from such a nebulous idea which stood basically no chance of ever being realised.

“You have your head in the clouds, Hashirama,” Madara told him, though it was hard to speak with his heart hammering up to his throat. “It is just that – a dream – and there’s no way it’ll ever become real. Don’t you notice how the conflicts are picking up? There’ll be war again, and soon, and our clans will be the ones fighting it.”

“I still believe that we can do something,” Hashirama insisted stubbornly, and Madara could have sworn he was tucking his head further into the crook of his neck as if in protest. “If it’s the two of us, we’ll definitely think of something.”

Madara didn’t know what to say to that, so he remained quiet. He couldn’t deny though that Hashirama’s admission, and the fact that he still, even after all the years that had passed, remembered their time together and held it in such high regard, rekindled a small flame of hope in Madara. A hope that maybe all was not lost, that maybe the bleak future was not inevitable. That maybe he would get to protect Izuna and watch him live a long and happy life, if only he too allowed himself to dream a little.

“Thank you,” he said quietly after long moments of silence between them. “For saving Izuna.”

“Don’t mention it,” his enemy – his friend? – replied. “I meant what I said to him, you know?”

“I know,” Madara whispered, closing his eyes as he finally admitted defeat against his heart.

He expected it to feel like drowning, to finally admit to the truth that he had tried to run from all this time. It had felt like drowning when he pushed away all thoughts and memories of Hashirama, like he was sinking into a black pit without any light or sound. But Madara just felt grief, and the frustrated sense of helplessness because everything in his life seemed so wholly out of his control. He’d been so close to losing Izuna today, and he knew he would have never forgiven himself had his little brother died on his watch. It didn’t even bear considering what may have happened had Hashirama not spotted them through sheer dumb luck.

“Madara?” Hashirama inquired and made a surprised sound when Madara turned and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, squeezing him close.

“I thought I would lose Izuna, but – but because of you, I – t-thank you –“ Madara stammered into Hashirama’s hair, overwhelmed by the many conflicting emotions he felt, but also by how relieved he was.

Hashirama had always given him an inexplicable sense of belonging, like if they just stuck together nothing could go wrong. He was someone Madara had found easy to rely on, because he’d never betrayed his trust – he’d met every challenge Madara presented him with head on, had always found a common ground with him, and then raised the bar for both of them. He’d never shied away from hardship, and he’d proved that he was willing to handle whatever Madara threw his way. That was why Madara had allowed him into his heart so quickly in the first place – he never had to hold back with him, never had to worry about anything, because Hashirama was just like him.

And he’d proven it again today, even against his clan’s best interest.

“I’m happy I could help,” Hashirama mumbled against his collarbone, his arms having come around Madara’s waist to hug him back shyly. “I know how much your brother means to you, I would never want you to lose him.”

It took Madara a while to regain composure, and he was grateful that Hashirama didn’t disappoint him this time either. He didn’t laugh at him or tried to make light of the situation, he just returned Madara’s embrace with increasing eagerness, seemingly very content in the tight hold, and not bothered by the tremors shaking Madara’s arms as he tried to suppress his tears. And eventually he started talking, telling Madara in a hushed, unexpectedly tender voice about how often he dreamed about the village they would build together. About how the houses would be hidden between the many trees, just their very tips visible, about how the children of both their clans would play together and learn together.

About how they’d all pool their strengths to work together, so that everyone could have a higher chance of a successful mission. About how they’d teach each other how to excel at their job and learn to trust at the same time. About how they’d get to see each other every day and talk and spend time together, and about their brothers becoming good friends, just like Hashirama and Madara were. About how he wanted Madara to lead their village, because to Hashirama he was the one best suited for the task. That last claim made Madara laugh in shocked disbelief – surely Hashirama wasn’t serious?

“You are crazy, Hashirama,” he managed, rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes in a clumsy attempt to hide his tears.

“But I mean it!” his friend, for that was who he really was, insisted. “You are the best person I know, so of course you’d be the best person to lead our village!”

Madara couldn’t even be mad at him for embarrassing him so, not when Hashirama pulled back enough to look at him, earnest eyes and soft smile and not a kernel of a joke in sight.

“You gave me hope for a better future when I thought there was nothing good or fair in the world,” he went on without shame. “Meeting you, it was like I was being given a gift by some divine force!”

“H-Hashirama!” Madara hissed, wanting him to stop sprouting nonsense, his face so hot he had to avert his eyes again.

But Hashirama didn’t relent, slowly pulling away only to take his hands instead, his warm palms making it seem to Madara like he was letting life seep back into him through his stiff, cold fingers.

“I really believe that if we put our heads together, then we can come to understand each other,” he said seriously. “No matter if we are Senju, Uchiha, or any other clan. You and I proved that, didn’t we? So, please don’t give up on our dream.”

Madara was looking at their hands, locked together tightly on his knees, Hashirama’s darker fingers in soft contrast to his. He wanted to believe him, wanted it so badly it hurt, because if he couldn’t believe that things would be better someday… then what were they even living for? Fingers twitching involuntarily as the sight of their hands started to blur, he felt Hashirama’s grip grow a little stronger, as if he wanted to give Madara a needed anchor to hold onto.

“I-I still… I want…” Madara whispered, turning his head away in shame at his lack of control. “I just can’t see how we could…”

Hashirama squeezed his hands again and leaned in a little closer.

“I thought your eyes were supposed to be really good,” he teased, and the grin was evident in his words, even though they were still gentle. “What is everyone going to say if a Senju can see the future better than an Uchiha?”

Madara tugged one of his hands out of his hold and lightly punched him where he expected his shoulder to be, shaking his head at how only Hashirama could make him laugh and cry at the same time. The surprised yelp that earned him was its own reward, but Hashirama didn’t try garner pity through one of his mood swings this time. Instead he let go of Madara’s other hand and started fussing with his obi. Taking the chance to wipe away his tears discreetly, Madara blinked at him in confusion when he felt a warm cloth being draped over his shoulders, realising with utter disbelief that Hashirama had pulled off his own kimono for him.

“What are you doing, idiot, you’ll get cold!” he hissed, trying to shrug the garment off and return it, but Hashirama covered Madara’s hands with his, preventing him from doing so.

“You are freezing, you need it more than I,” he pointed out, and Madara felt himself turn from flustered to mad within moments.

“Like hell I do!” he argued, cheeks growing hot at Hashirama’s brazen behaviour, and eventually huffed. “You can’t just – ugh, fine, let’s just share it if you insist on being difficult.”

Hashirama beamed at him, like that was what he’d wanted from the start – maybe he had, Madara thought, thankful and embarrassed at the same time, which only made him more irritated, but also unwilling to back down. He realised that he might not have thought things through entirely when Hashirama squeezed himself against his side, their naked arms pressed together from shoulder to elbow, and drew the left side of the kimono over himself.

“We can’t close it properly,” he lamented, looking at Madara from under tousled bangs and, suddenly seeming way too close.

He squirmed about until Madara’s patience snapped, and he boldly wrapping his arm around Hashirama’s back, pulling them closer together and allowing them to properly wrap themselves up. Hashirama seemed to be briefly stunned by his daring, but it didn’t take much more prompting for him to get comfortable where he was, resting his head against Madara’s shoulder again. He was so warm, and his hair was so very soft, and Madara held his arm up awkwardly around him, somehow afraid of placing his hand on Hashirama’s waist – his _naked_ waist!

“This is nice,” Hashirama decided, blissfully unaware of Madara’s chaotic thoughts. “Hey, Madara, we should make a pact!”

“A pact?” Madara asked weakly, definitely not feeling up to doing any sensible thinking right now.

His head was pounding from the intense emotions he was still struggling with, and the tiredness was finally catching up with him as well. It didn’t help that due to Hashirama’s closeness he was also slowly starting to feel warm again, though he tried not to think too much about the body pressed close to his, or how drowsy that made him.

“Yes!” Hashirama enthused in the meantime. “How about this: when we both become clan heads one day, we will make peace and build a village together!”

Even though Madara couldn’t see his expression, he could feel him basically vibrating with excited energy.

“It’s not as easy as that, Hashirama…” he groaned in reply. “Our clans may not agree –“

“Then we just have to convince them!” the Senju boy would hear none of his objections. “You inspired me so easily, I am sure your clan will agree immediately as well!”

Madara could only shake his head at how completely skewed Hashirama’s perception of him was – sure, many of his peers were impressed by his strength and talent, but they were also jealous of him for much the same reason. Madara was often awkward around them, because he knew everyone expected only excellence of him, and he was supposed to be a role model, but that also made it hard for him to grow close to anyone, or to rely on them.

“That’s because you are a hopeless impressionable idiot,” he chided, and felt Hashirama flop limply against him immediately, the force of his pout rivalling Izuna’s.

“That’s not true,” he whined, poking Madara in the stomach with a finger. “But I guess if you say so… I didn’t expect you would be _that_ bad at talking to people…”

“You!” Madara growled, squirming away from Hashirama’s evil attempts at tickling him and pinching him in the arm in retaliation until he wailed.

The rustling of Izuna turning over in his sleep, still fast asleep under Hashirama’s coat, made them both freeze, then deflate against the wall as they realised there was no sudden attack.

“You are impossible,” Madara grumbled, tugging the corner of Hashirama’s kimono tighter around himself and stifling a yawn against his shoulder.

Hashirama chuckled quietly, the shaking of his shoulders giving him away as he relaxed once more against Madara. The motion immediately made Madara’s heart hammer again, and he swallowed, looking out into the rain in an attempt to distract himself. They had never been this familiar with one another, Hashirama and he. Yes, they’d spent many days chasing each other through the water or up a mountain, and sometimes they slept off their exhausting efforts next to each other in the sun-warmed grass, but they had never sat in an embrace like this, skin against skin, so close Madara could feel each of Hashirama’s breaths, and could smell the scent of cedar oil on his hair.

“I’m serious though,” Hashirama eventually murmured, mindful of the volume of his voice. “When I am clan head, I will make peace with you. I promise.”

Madara felt the familiar doubts creep into his thoughts again, but this time he decided to do something he’d never done before: he looked the other way and chose not to listen to them. Instead he rested his cheek on Hashirama’s hair and wrapped his arms tighter around him, feeling him squeeze back against him with a content sigh, probably because they were both rather warm and comfortable now. He’d told Hashirama in the past that it was impossible for them to show each other what they really felt, but maybe he’d been wrong about that. Hashirama had made no secret of what was in his heart today, and maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.

“You better learn how to write properly until then, because those chicken scratches you showed me that one time…” Madara teased him quietly. “If I showed my clan elders a letter like that, they’d refuse peace with you on principle!”

“I’ve gotten loads of practice since then!” Hashirama pouted against his collarbones. “My writing is really good now!”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Madara smirked, then stifled another yawn.

“You can sleep, you know? I’ll keep watch,” his friend suggested, and Madara could have sworn he felt Hashirama rub his cheek against his shoulder.

He shook his head, but his eyelids felt heavy, and since Hashirama was awake as well, he didn’t feel bad about closing them, just for a bit. He blinked and looked over to Izuna, seeing his brother still curled up tightly, and hoped he was warm enough. They should have sat by his side to keep warm together, he thought absently, but then their talking would have woken him, and a sleep-deprived Izuna was something Madara would not inflict upon himself unless strictly necessary. The corners of his mouth twitched briefly at the thought, and Madara let his eyes drift closed again. He’d rest them for just a short moment, then suggest to Hashirama that they switch…

The next thing he was consciously aware of was the feeling of someone stroking their fingers through his hair, very carefully. Thinking that it must be his little brother feeling playful that morning, Madara let out a content breath and burrowed closer into the warmth under him. And he would have dozed right back off to sleep had his cosy _futon_ not started to tremble all of a sudden.

“I told you, just like a baby kitten,” someone whispered loudly, and then there was more trembling paired with soft laughter.

Madara frowned, and it took him a while to realise that that was _not_ his brother’s voice.

He froze immediately, then jumped up and backwards, reaching for his kunai pouch that was not where it was supposed to be – and then the clammy cold hit him at once, shocking his senses into proper wakefulness. He spotted Hashirama, half lying against the wall of the shed in a way that did not look comfortable at all. The surprise on his face vanished quickly as the noiseless giggles overwhelmed him again, and Madara really didn’t know what he found so amusing, seeing as his kimono was just half-draped over him.

“You! What are you laughing at!?” he snapped, hoping his pink cheeks could be explained away by the cold.

Lucky for Hashirama, Madara was immediately distracted by Izuna, who was kneeling right next to the Senju boy with a peculiar expression on his face, like he was trying to pout, glare, and cry at the same time. But that wasn’t what Madara cared about right now – his baby brother was awake, and his cheeks were a healthy rosy colour, and if he was feeling well enough to sit up on his own then he was as good as new!

“Izuna! How are you feeling? Are you alright?” Madara demanded, hurrying to his brother’s side and gently grabbing him by the shoulders to check him over.

“I’m _fine_ , nii-san,” he replied, sounding like he was somehow not entirely happy about the fact, but Madara let it pass, just relieved to hear the confirmation.

He finger-combed Izuna’s fringe back, making his little brother grumble and try and duck his head away.

“Good,” Madara murmured absently to himself, then turned his head towards Hashirama, who’d sat up and fixed his clothes in the meantime.

Madara felt a strange pang in his stomach as he remembered Hashirama wrapping his kimono around them both, and the feeling of the other boy’s soft hair on his shoulder… Clearing his throat Madara let his glance drift over Hashirama’s head briefly, finding the early morning outside still grey and gloomy, but luckily without any of the heavy rainfall of last night. He looked back at Hashirama, unsure of how he was supposed to approach him now. It was easy to dream under the safe cover of the night, but on this new day, with the Senju clan crest glaringly bold on Hashirama’s askew headband, things just felt a lot more difficult.

Evading the obvious, Madara stood and turned away from Hashirama, rubbing his cold arms and then bending down to collect his coat, wincing at the residue dampness as he slipped into it. Luckily, they weren’t far from home, and after having rested up during the night the distance would be covered quickly. He gave the hut a last quick scan, but found no other belongings than his _katana_ , which he slipped through his obi, where it belonged. Upon turning around, he noticed Hashirama watching him, his face neutral but his eyes bright and curious.

Izuna, on the other hand, was watching Hashirama, and Madara could definitely see his lips pursing and his tiny nose wrinkling in frustration. His little brother was clearly fighting his instinct to attack Hashirama and was probably held back only by the knowledge that the Senju in question was stronger than him, and that it wouldn’t be a very honourable thing to do right after he’d saved his life. Not that the shinobi business left much room for honour, but the Uchiha clan prided itself on having some principles, at least.

“Right, so…” Madara started, clearing his throat again as he wrestled with his nerves. “The weather seems decent now, so we’ll be on our way.”

Hashirama stood up as well to face him properly, and Madara’s eyes narrowed a little. Hadn’t Hashirama always been as tall as him? Why did it suddenly feel like Madara had to look up at him, just a bit? Whatever fluke that was, Madara didn’t like it, so he straightened out his spine to stand a little taller, pretending nothing was amiss. Izuna got up too, and after a moment of hesitation held out the rain coat he’d been borrowing, offering it back to Hashirama who took it with a small smile.

“Get back home safely, both of you,” he said, and normally Madara would have gotten irritated at such a patronising comment, but all he felt was calm.

And while this was a goodbye for who knew how long, it didn’t feel as final as it had the last time around. Hashirama’s eyes were shifting between his, and there was a little relief on his face, as if he could somehow tell what Madara was thinking and knew that the conversation they’d had indeed managed to bridge the chasm between them. Still, it was difficult to form the right words when his heart was racing, and his stomach felt queasy.

“You too,” Madara eventually managed. “Take care.”

Madara took a step, then another one, into the direction of the doorway, feeling Izuna follow on his heels. It was like moving through quicksand, as if the movements of his legs suddenly took ten times the effort for no apparent reason. As he made to walk past Hashirama their eyes met again, and lingered on one another, trying to hold on the only way they could until Madara had to look away. Hashirama followed them out into the foggy morning, the sound of the river rushing by and the birds’ singing the only noises around them.

“Madara,” he called out, making them turn back around to face him after just a couple steps. “Don’t forget my promise.”

There was something desperate in his eyes, like he needed to be assured once more that Madara remembered, that the few hours they’d spent together had not been just another dream. Madara couldn’t blame him, he felt his heart beat painfully in his chest again, not wanting to part from Hashirama either, especially since he knew what it would mean for them for the foreseeable future.

“I won’t,” he replied, though his voice sounded weak to his own ears, which only seemed to make Hashirama’s worry increase.

Madara knew he wasn’t good with words – he was brash and direct, and he didn’t beat around the bush. He had little love for unnecessary poetry. But he also knew things had changed, not just because Hashirama had changed the course of all their lives with his selfless act, but because their dream, while still woefully out of reach, had become a little more attainable in just one night. And Hashirama deserved some assurance that Madara was not going to walk away this time and try to forget him again. And since he couldn’t think of any good way to explain that to Hashirama, Madara just gave himself a push and walked back to him.

“Madara?” Hashirama asked, just as Izuna called “Nii-san?”, eyes widening in confusion at his sudden approach.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Madara wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close, their cheeks pressed together intimately. He heard Hashirama gasp in surprise, gleefully happy about having managed to catch him so completely off-guard. Madara lifted his left hand, hesitantly brushing his fingers over the back of Hashirama’s head, over his lovely hair, just like he’d done to him.

“Thank you, for everything,” he murmured, low enough so only Hashirama would hear him, and then pulled back, but not before pressing a kiss against his cheek.

Hashirama stared at him open-mouthed, his face slowly but surely turning red, and Madara bit his bottom lip to keep himself from laughing, though he knew he probably wasn’t faring much better, his stomach fluttering.

“I’ll be expecting that letter!” he called over his shoulder as he hurriedly made his way back to Izuna, who looked even more confused and unsure than before.

Together they sped off into the trees, and Madara allowed himself one last glance back, finding Hashirama standing on the riverbank just where he’d left him, face bright red and a hand cupping his cheek, just over the spot that Madara’s lips had touched.

Yes, Madara thought. There was indeed hope for the future.

**Author's Note:**

> There is also a cute illustration for this story which was kindly done by Canchuon: https://twitter.com/Canchuon/status/1343190434562990087?s=20


End file.
